The Gaze
by mhmartini
Summary: Erwin reflects on Levi's gaze and how it has changed.


I do not own these characters or series. I make no money from writing this.

An overdue thank you to KyoHana for beta checking this and for RG for content checking it.

Summary: Erwin reflects on Levi's gaze and how it has changed.

After briefing the officers on our upcoming expedition, I dismiss them. As he leaves, his gaze catches and holds mine for a split second. He knows. He knows this mission is a farce, a command from above that is not intended to succeed. He knows it's just another political maneuver to discredit the Survey Corps. And he knows I have no choice but to follow the order, to send good men and women to their deaths for little or no return, just to appease the Powers That Be.

He is the last to leave, closing the door quietly behind him. As the latch clicks into place, I think back to when I met him and the history we have shared in the Corps. Little has changed about him. He certainly hasn't grown any taller. If I hadn't known him for so long, I'd still mistake him for the child he was when I first encountered him. But he is no child. Come to think of it, with his past, maybe he never truly was one. He's practically the same, unchanged by time, except for his eyes. The changes are very subtle. I doubt anyone who isn't very close to him could see them, and he does not allow anyone to get close to him. But I see them.

When I met him, his youthful eyes were suspicious and defiant, mistrustful of everyone and hateful of authority. They carried a darkness beyond their years, those eyes that had seen too much at such a young age. But their youth overpowered the darkness, and they gleamed with the life within.

The suspicion is still there, as is the defiance. But the life is fading, hidden under a cold facade. His gleaming eyes have become glassy, reflecting the world around him, never letting anyone see what's inside. Years in the Corps will do that. As more of your comrades die before you, the cold wall becomes necessary, the only barrier between you and the insanity that we live through. Sometimes, though, I see a flicker, just a passing furrow of his brow and split second crack in that glassy surface. Sometimes his eyes look like they're about to break, to let loose everything hidden within. It's always gone before I even realize what it was, but it makes me wonder, just how close is he to the edge?

His eyes are always ringed with dark circles now. That doesn't surprise me. Since he was promoted to an officer, his private room is next to mine. I hear his cries when the nightmares come. And they come often. Then again, he's not the only one. Everyone who has survived the Corps for more than a few expeditions has them. The longer you survive, the more frequently they come. I'm quite firmly convinced that this is the reason the officers are required to bunk in private rooms in a separate building from the main barracks. This way the recruits and the younger soldiers won't hear our shrieks in the night. They would lose morale hearing it night after night. We officers have all been through Hell and politely ignore the nocturnal screams of our fellows, and if we happen to hear muffled sobbing after, no one needs mention it.

His eyes carry a look of exhaustion now that goes beyond the sleepless nights, beyond the terrors of the dreams. He's wearing down. Too often he leaves his squad to carry out an impossible mission, returning covered in sweat, grime, and titan blood, successful against overwhelming odds. They call him Humanity's Strongest, but he's still just a man. Every mission, every battle, weighs heavily on his small shoulders; every death threatens to crush his tiny form. He says that he takes on the hardest missions alone because only he has the ability to carry them out. He's right, of course. No one can compare with his speed or skill. But in truth, he takes them on alone because he can't handle the deaths. He'd rather walk into death's maw alone than take his team with him. Yet somehow he lives while they, more often than not, fall. But that's how it is in the Corps. So he gets more reckless with each mission, shouldering more of the danger by himself.

One day he'll take on too much. One day he'll make a mistake. Whether it's truly a miscalculation or whether it is intentional on some subconscious level, no one will know, but it will end him. On that day, he will fall, and those brooding eyes with all their defiance and dark circles will see no more. On that day, Humanity's Strongest will fail, and humanity will have to take the burden of hope onto its own shoulders, at least until it finds a new target on which to pin the weight of its dreams.

I don't know if it will happen soon or years from now, but it will happen. His eyes tell me that he knows it, too. It's a fact of life that we've all come to accept in the Corps. My gaze drops from the door to the details of the expedition scattered across my desk. Will this be the one?

I gather the maps and formation diagrams and place them in their folder. I can't continue to dwell on mortality. We have a mission tomorrow, and I need to be fit to lead. All the officers do. Hopefully there will only be a few nightmares tonight in the officers' quarters. We need the sleep.

It's late when I return to my room, yet I see a sliver of light under his door. I pause in the hallway with my hand on the knob of my door, and I hear a familiar sound: the broom being dragged across the floor. I smile wistfully. We all have ways of trying to outrun our demons. Some soldiers choose drinking; some choose sleeping around. His escape is cleaning. He needs that level of control over his environment.

I enter my room and flop into my bed without even changing. I'm too tired. The sound of sweeping next door doesn't bother me; I find it strangely calming, lulling me to sleep. I know he'll keep cleaning far into the night, perhaps until dawn.

Tomorrow those circles will be there, under his glassy eyes, darker than they already are. Tomorrow he'll lead his team outside the walls, then take off on his own to do the impossible... again. And hopefully tomorrow he'll come back on his horse, not wrapped in a sheet and stacked in a cart. His eyes will be darker and that much closer to breaking. But that's how we all look after a mission. That's how it is in the Corps. Some things don't change.


End file.
